Michelle Pickens' Online Resume

Poetry...

| Limits of Imagination | Just Beyond the Window | All the Pretty Ponies |


Limits of Imagination

There's a fairy in my bedroom;
She comes out every night.
She likes to dance around my head
And bathe the room in light.

She leads me to the bathroom
When it's dark and I'm afraid
And when a shadow outside spooks me
She helps me drop the window shade.

She's my ward against the boogey man
And the monster under my bed.
She makes the bad things go away
When the moon's a scary red.

She comes with me to the kitchen
When I need a midnight snack.
When I want to go to my momma's room
She's there when I get back.

My daddy says I made her up
Like a little kid would do,
But I am not a little kid
And I know that that's not true.

There IS a fairy in my room
Who comes out every night.
I can tell she's always there...
She's just always out of sight.



Just Beyond the Window

I yearn to see the morning light
Prevail over the dark, despite
The undisputed reign of night-
Just beyond the window.

And 'pon stray draft of wind to hear
The birds proclaim that day is near
And not feel that the sound is queer-
Just beyond the window.

I long to scent the early bloom
Whose lovely fragrance fills the room
With thoughts that Spring will be here soon-
Just beyond the window.

Oh, come the day of winter's end
That brings blue skies and tells me when
The sun will melt the snow again-
Just beyond the window.

But, hearken! What doth catch my eye?
Beyond the wall; a strip of sky,
The endless dark undaunted by-
Just beyond the window.

And nary I believe my eyes
And lift in song and joyful cries
To tell the world I've seen what lies-
Just beyond the window.



All the Pretty Ponies

Look at all the pretty ponies,
With their pretty spotted hides,
And their dancing and their prancing
As they show off their painted sides.

The pretty feathers in their hair,
To give them strength to fight,
And to grant them quiet movements
As they advance in silent night.

The pretty bloody handprints
To show whom all they've killed,
How many men have died of them;
How much blood they've spilled.

The circles on their pretty eyes,
The patterns on their bodice,
Symbolizing struggles
In the name of their master's goddess.

Look at the pretty ponies,
All dressed up for war.
Now watch them die,
And say goodbye,
For times will never be like before.